Page 30 of Bolo's Curveball
“Oh, I sort of had a mentor when I first started out as a firefighter. He went into the position and taught me a lot through the years. When he retired a few years ago, I applied and was selected for the job. I really like it.” She beamed a smile myway that was damn near as bright as the sun. “It's like piecing together a jigsaw puzzle.”
“What got you into being a firefighter?”
“My dad was one for his whole career.”
“And as the oldest daughter you wanted to follow in his footsteps?”
She laughed and gave me a guilty look. “Pretty much. Plus, there’s no way any of my sisters would be interested. They’re…”
“Too girly?” I suggested, based on the look on her face.
She laughed. “That’s one way to put it. But really, it just wasn’t for them.”
“Nothing wrong with that.”
“Nope, they’re all going in their own directions and we’re so proud of them.”
“I get that though. My brothers and I did the same. We all ended up doing stints in the military because our dad had.” I looked over at her with a teasing grin.
“What?”
“You said you’re proud of them as though you’re one of their parents.”
Laughing, she shook her head. “My parents are amazing. But I guess as the oldest of five I sort of looked out for them, too. So did Sophie. The second oldest. We were kind of the makeshift guardians of our younger sisters when our parents weren’t around.”
“Seems to be standard for older siblings,” I said. “Pretty sure my older brother feels the same about me and Relay. He was always trying to keep us out of trouble. He usually failed and just joined in after a bit.”
She smirked at me. “I can absolutely see you being a little maniac as a kid.”
I chuckled and nodded. “The three of us were menaces. That’s for sure.”
“Were?” she teased. “Something tells me you still are…Bolo.” She tapped her belly and smirked at me.
“Guilty,” I said. “You hungry?”
“Changing the subject?” she asked.
“Naw. I’m an open book, Baby Girl. But Camila made a ton of food for us. She makes these sandwiches that are like fucking crack.” I opened up the cooler on the raft and dug around as I looked up at her. “How has your morning sickness been?”
She grimaced. “Not great, but I’m not feeling too bad right now. I want to try crack sandwiches.”
Laughing, I handed over one. “I don’t know what all she puts on them, but they’re amazing. She’s a chef, or will be once her restaurant opens, which should hopefully be soon.”
“Oh that’s cool.” She made a face. “I’m not a great cook. I can make a few basic things, but nothing special.”
“Cooking’s not really my thing either,” I told her. “I do it so that I don’t eat out every damn day, but I’m not winning any awards.”
“So you cook. And clean…I assume.”
I nodded in agreement as I unwrapped my sandwich and took a huge bite. You didn’t get to thirty-five years old as a single man without learning to cook, clean, and wash your own damn underwear. At least you didn’t unless you were a loser who still had your mommy doing those things for you. I was a lot of things but a loser wasn’t one of them.
“Work construction. Are a part of a motorcycle club, and are a veteran. What else?”
I looked over at her. “What’d ya mean?”
“You’ve done a lot of things. Just wondering if there’s more.”
Swallowing, I shrugged. “No. Mostly just live a normal life.” I didn’t bring up that I was currently living at my clubhouse. This didn’t seem like the time or place. And maybe this was a good opening to bring up the potential threats that could be comingour way—and since she was connected to me, her way as well—but I didn’t want to ruin the day. I’d sit her down in the next couple of days and speak to her about my club and what we had going on.
